Page 18 of Cursed Crowns

“Don’t say we didn’t warn you!” Cider-breath called after her.

“Mark your door if you know what’s good for you,” added Wobbles. “The Arrows will be out hunting for witches tonight!”

As Wren traveled deeper into the old town, she began to notice some of the houses were marked with arrows. She crossed the street to investigate one, tracing her finger along the dark paint.

The townspeople of Eshlinn were marking their doors to keep the Arrows from coming after them. Or maybe even tohelpthem. Unease bloomed inside Wren. Rebellion truly was stirring in the heart of Eshlinn.

Wren thought of Rose slumbering back at the palace. In the morning, she would rise alone to face it. She winced as she imagined her sister’s face when she read her letter, but Wren forced herself to go on, because imagining Banba alone in Gevra was far worse. And besides, Shen would look out for Rose. Thea would guide her. Elske wouldprotect her. Celeste would support her. Chapman would advise her. Captain Davers and the witches would fight for her.

Rose would be fine.Eana would be fine.

When Wren reached the blacksmith’s house on the outskirts of Eshlinn, she was relieved to find their door unmarked. The Morwells were still loyal to the crown.

Wren almostfelt bad about stealing one of their horses. She used an enchantment to break into the stables and freed a brown mare from her stall. They set off into the night, leaving the twinkling lights of Eshlinn far behind them.

On a good horse, Wishbone Bay was half a night’s ride away. The Morwells’ mare kept a steady pace as they galloped along the north road, winding through farmland that yawned across Eana in fields of golden wheat and leafy vineyards in summer bloom. Everything glowed silver under the waning moon, the scent of lavender tickling Wren’s nose as they strayed from the dirt road to pass through a meadow of wildflowers.

She reveled in the feeling of wind in her hair. For the first time in forever, she felt free. And though it was false and fleeting—this feeling of unbridled possibility—she held it to her like a prayer, until the rising scent of seaweed roused her from the illusion.

When Wren opened her eyes, Wishbone Bay was before her. The road twisted its way down to the dark water, where the bay arced in a perfect crescent, as though some terrible creature had risen from the deep and taken a bite out of it. The port lights flickered, beckoning her onward. Dawn was creeping over the horizon, breathing wisps of amber and pink across the sky.

Wren leaped off the horse and sent it home with an enchantment.She slipped the hand mirror from her satchel and quickly checked her spelled appearance before picking her way down to the bay.

The port was busier than she expected. Shouts and hollers filled the air as people rushed along the pier, dragging in nets and barrels heaving with freshly caught fish. They were carted off and dumped out just as quickly, the market traders setting out their stalls as the ships reloaded their supplies and prepared to sail again at first light. There were nine moored in the dock. Wren counted three fishing boats, two smaller sailing boats, one hulking galleon bearing the Eana Navy crest on its sails, and three large merchant ships.

Wren suspected the sturdiest-looking merchant ship at the far end of the port would be sailing the treacherous Gevran trading route, while the smaller two would probably journey southwest to Demarre, or perhaps Caro. Her suspicions were confirmed when she spied the barrels being unloaded from it; they all bore the Gevran crest—the terrifying ice bear, Bernhard, caught in mid-roar.

Wren steeled herself and marched toward the merchant ship. It was a sturdy dark-wood vessel with three towering masts and twelve ivory sails. Its flag was green and gold, marking it as a local trading vessel, whileSiren’s Secrethad been scrawled along its side.The prow bore a bronze carving of a mermaid wearing a crown of shells.

Wren grabbed a discarded length of rope from the dock and wound it around her shoulder. She kept her head down and tried to look busy as she carried it across the gangway and onto theSiren’s Secret.She braced herself for an angry shout, or a hand yanking her backward, but no one even glanced in her direction. The crew of theSiren’s Secretwere far too busy to notice the comings and goings of a scurrying lackey.

She hurried up the wooden steps at the back of the ship, spottedthe captain’s wheel, and immediately turned around again. “Idiot,” she scolded herself. She was halfway back down the stairs when a figure appeared before her, a hand braced on each railing to block her way.

Wren froze midstep, staring down at a pair of dark-leather boots. “Excuse me,” she squeaked. “I’ve got to get this rope to the captain right quick.”

“Your captain is before you,” came a deep, plummy voice. “And he has made no such demands.”

Wren flinched.

The captain took a step toward her. “It appears I have a stowaway.”

Beneath the folds of her cloak, Wren reached for a pinch of sand. She raised her chin, studying the threat. First, the dark trousers and billowing white shirt. A mulberry frock coat embroidered with fine gold thread. Beneath it, a pair of wide shoulders and thick arms—easily strong enough to snap her in two.Not that he would need to with that sword fastened to his belt. His skin was dark brown, and under a gray tricorn hat his black hair was tightly curled, his strong chin shaded with matching stubble.

His brown eyes narrowed as he assessed her.

The crew had fallen out of their tasks to watch their exchange. Wren could feel several pairs of eyes on her, and more gathering. Her fingers twitched. She was about to throw caution to the wind and attempt a spell, when the captain did something unexpected. He chuckled.

Wren frowned. “What’s so funny?”

“You look like you want to run me through with a cutlass,” he said, still laughing. “What do you have inside that cloak of yours?”

“Nothing,” said Wren, letting the sand scatter to the floor. She showed him her hands. “See?”

“Now your face,” said the captain, gesturing at her hood. “Just in case you’ve got a dagger in your teeth.”

Wren tugged her hood down. She flashed her crooked smile. “Just my charm.”

“I think I shall be the judge of that.” The captain’s gaze roamed along her auburn curls. “Does my stowaway have a name?”

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